


he who is not dead eats dangerously

by WoozleBucket



Category: Sugar Pine 7 RPF
Genre: Dark, Horror, Implied Cannibalism, Mild Gore, Psychological Horror, That's what, Wendigo, god i wish those weren't their canon names, no ships, some dark shit, they're pretty fucked, you know what those are?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-03
Updated: 2017-12-03
Packaged: 2019-02-09 22:31:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12898194
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WoozleBucket/pseuds/WoozleBucket
Summary: He isn't dead, but he's hungry. Really hungry.





	he who is not dead eats dangerously

**Author's Note:**

> Wendigo Parker! My cannibalistic son!
> 
> Watch out, nervous breakdown ahead! 
> 
> (Originally from my Tumblr. See end notes.)

Parker comes to in the basement. Alone. He sits up and winces because, okay, his arm is broken. His head is killing him. It feels like someone’s continually stabbing an ice pick into the base of his skull. The lights are too bright and his eyes feel like they’re burning out of his face. 

He swings his legs over the side of the table, ignoring how his body protests at every motion, and he lowers himself to the floor. His vision swims and his knees buckle and he has to sit down and close his eyes. There’s a gnawing pain in the pit of his stomach that grows with every breath. _God_ , how long has it been since he’d eaten? Two, three hours? Days? Weeks? His head hurts, it hurts so bad, and he’s starving and--

His head perks up as he senses movement on the other side of the door. There’s a sharp pang in his stomach, one that makes his curl into himself and rest his head on his knees. 

“Who-who is it?” he weakly calls. His voice is shaking and he doesn’t know whether it’s from weakness or from the sudden longing for whoever it is to come in. To him, his voice isn’t any louder than the buzzing of the overhead lights.

“Uh, it’s me,” the person says. 

“Andrew?” Parker asks, perking his head up and staring at the door. His stomach audibly growls.

“Uh, yes,” Andrew slowly answers. “I’m not coming in.”

Parker frowns. “What? Why?”

There’s no answer.

“Andrew?”

The buzzing of the lights grows in volume, drowning out his words. He winces and buries his head back in his knees, covering his ears. It’s loud, too loud, too loud, too loud--

“I, uh, Jeremy?” he can faintly hear. 

Parker doesn’t want to see Jeremy for some reason. Jeremy’s a threat, he can stop him, and, wait, stop him from what? Jeremy’s absolutely terrifying, sure, but he’s also terrified of pumpkins. And Parker’s just...Parker, he can’t do anything, really. 

“Jeremy?” Parker asks, practically yelling, because the lights are so loud and his heart is pounding and it’s all too loud, too loud--

“Parker, we aren’t coming in,” Jeremy says, his voice barely audible. 

“It’s loud!” Parker yells. “Can I just, uh, go out there?”

There’s an immediate ‘no’ from both of his roommates and, suddenly, he realizes that he hasn’t eaten in almost a month and he’s starving. He laughs quietly to himself. It sounds panicked and scared and, well, he feels panicked and scared and hungry, so hungry, so damn hungry. 

“Oh,” he says. “Oh God. Guys, I need to eat something.”

He’s standing, now, leaning heavily against the table, and the lights are too bright and too loud, too bright and too loud, and he has an arm around his middle. His stomach feels like it’s caving in on itself, he needs to eat something, _anything_ , and he needs to get out of the damn basement and--

He’s in front of the door, leaning heavily against it, his forehead freezing against the cold metal. The arm not around his middle is banging on the door.

“Guys!” he yells. He can’t hear himself over the buzzing and his heartbeat. “Guys! I need something! Guys!?”

He’s angry, frustrated, hungry, and he wants _out_. He needs out, he needs to eat something because he’s going to die of starvation at any minute, he’s sure of it. But why don’t they understand? Do they even care? He’s their friend, their best friend, and he’s dying and they obviously don’t care and he slams his fist against the door with a snarl. The palms of his hands hurt, they feel like they’re slowly being injected with four tiny needles each. 

“Come on!” he yells and his voice is almost a growl to him. “The hell are your deals!? I’m dying! You’re killing me! I am going. To. Die!”

He accentuates the last word with both of his fists slamming against the door, leaving two indents. In the back of his mind, he has a feeling that he’s overreacting slightly, that this is all just some sort of joke, that Andrew’s going to open the door with a pizza or a heart on a plate, all nice and hot and steaming, and they’re going to go upstairs and everything will be fine. But the larger part of his mind, the one that’s right, the one that knows that he is going to die in the basement of starvation because his damn stupid friends locked him in there.

His fists are hurting and he squeezes his eyes shut and drops them. His breaths are coming in short, they hurt, his head hurts, his stomach has a knife jabbing into it repeatedly and the knife won’t stop. And there’s no noise from the other side except for what he thinks are his roommates’ breaths, calm and relaxed for Jeremy and nervous and short for Andrew. Tears are brimming in his eyes, they’re hot, almost boiling, and the buzzing will not stop. 

He hears shuffling on the other side of the door and his eyes open and, suddenly, he’s looking at himself in the metal. His eyes are sunken in, gross looking, and his nose looks like it’s broken. And there’s red and brown spread around his mouth. And there’s too much blood to have come from a broken nose. 

“Oh, God,” he says. As he speaks, he sees that his teeth are stained that rusty color.

“Oh, _God_ ,” he repeats. 

It’s dead silent except for the buzzing and his heartbeat and, then, he curls in on himself as another knife plunges in. 

“Give me ten minutes,” Jeremy says. Parker can hear Andrew’s quiet whine before he hears footsteps going up the stairs. 

Of course they’re gone, of course, and that had to be an empty promise, it had to be. There’s no way that they’re coming back. 

Parker turns his back to the door, not wanting to see his reflection anymore, and slides down, ending up with his head in his hands, his fingers pulling on his hair, his stomach being gouged out, his nails pulling and scratching. The buzzing is even louder now that nobody’s outside, now that there isn’t anything, or anyone, to distract him, and his eyes are squeezed shut as tightly as he can make them. God, oh God, oh dear God, he _wants_ to die. The back of his mind, the dumb one, the human one, it wants to die. It’s seen his face, it’s heard everything and the buzzing is too loud, too loud, too loud. He doesn’t want to die, he wants them, someone, _someone_ , to die, someone that isn’t him. God, he’s hungry. 

He absently licks his lips and tastes the metallic tang. He wants to gag at the taste, it’s metallic and yucky, but, _God_ , he wishes that he could have finished the job when he had the chance. But then stupid Jeremy and his stupid shovel came along and Andrew had bolted and--

Parker realizes that he is tasting Andrew and moves his head to cough up anything and everything onto the floor. But there isn’t anything to cough up. His stomach is empty and he’s hungry, so hungry, and there has to be a hundred knives by now, and even if there was something there, he doesn’t think that he would be able to vomit it up. He remembers how Andrew tasted at the time, like pure heaven to him, and he misses that taste and he doesn’t miss that taste and he does and--

He sobs. He pulls on his hair, nails digging into his scalp. God, he’s going to hell. He’s going to die any time now and he’s going to go to hell. 

He jumps at the knock at the door.

“Don’t kill me,” Jeremy says, sounding as casual as ever. The door opens, making Parker move a few feet over, and there’s a loud ‘thud’ as something lands on the floor. It smells amazing and he opens his eyes and is almost immediately bent over the body, his hands buried deep into its chest, covered in blood and there are bone fragments sticking into his skin and he wants to stop, but he’s just so hungry. So damn hungry.

**Author's Note:**

> @ohnomypeas for more shit like this. Also gifs, Cow Chop, the occasional Funhaus. All there, and for the low, low price of literally no money! What a steal!


End file.
